


Until the day breathes and the shadows flee

by Storycat9



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chloe Decker Deserves a Drink, Episode: s05e07 Our Mojo, F/M, Feels, LOL Snort "Happy Ending", Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Lucifer's Freaking Out Again, Shameless Smut, So Does Dan Actually, like always, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26489833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storycat9/pseuds/Storycat9
Summary: Finally--finally--having sex seems to have transferred Lucifer's mojo to Chloe, and he's taking it about as poorly as you'd expect. Chloe, on the other hand, thinks there might be an upside to all this ... if she can get Lucifer to see things her way.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 43
Kudos: 346
Collections: LUCIFER_FICS_





	1. Chapter 1

Lucifer wakes with little snuffling sighs in his ears. He knows those sounds, has learned them only in the last few hours, but they already pull a direct shivering line straight to his groin. 

_Chloe._

He leans up on an elbow to peer at his brand-new lover, tangled in in his gold silk sheets and twitching a bit in her sleep. A tiny smile curls the edge of her lips as she repeats the same delicious little sounds she made last night. And yes, he’s more than happy to turn her dream into reality. He’s just trying to decide how to kiss her awake when her soft moan stutters, then turns into an abrupt snort as she jerks awake.

The first time the Detective woke in his bed, Lucifer watched with what he told himself was amusement as her cheeks bloomed with mortified horror and she skittered out of the penthouse as though the he-himself was on her heels. This time, he watches her sleepy blue eyes crinkle with a smile. 

“Oh, hi,” she murmurs, taking in his body curling over hers. “Was I snoring like a truck driver?”

Lucifer cuts his eyes to the side, already readying a quip, when she brushes her hand against his jaw to stop him. “You know, don’t answer that,” she says lazily, “because I just remembered--you don’t lie.”

They grin at each other and Lucifer takes the opportunity to kiss her, whispering, “Good morning, Detective.”

“Good morning,” she smiles back at him. And oh, the soft sweetness of her look is everything he’s longed for, and the cold hallways of Hell have never seemed so far away. 

Far enough away that he can even ask, with elaborate casualness, “Are you cold?”

He wants to kiss that adorable little puzzled frown. “Cold? No, why?”

“Odd,” he deadpans, “given that Hell was supposed to freeze over.”

She snorts a laugh. “Right, because I said I wouldn’t have sex with you until hell … yes, yes, you think you’re very funny,” she says, her voice managing to be both husky and snarky at the same time.

“Oh, I know I’m very funny,” he purrs, nuzzling little kisses across her mouth and down her throat. “I also know that you … are … _ticklish_.”

She squeals and writhes against him in the most delightful way. He tickles her wildly, reveling in her breathless giggles, until she calls mercy.

After all the angst, all the misunderstandings and emotional drama on both sides, how could he have known finally coming together would feel so lighthearted, so bloody easy? He sees years of Saturday morning tickle fights stretching out ahead of him. It’s almost enough to make him thank his dad.

Chloe takes a deep breath and rubs her palm against his scruffy jaw.

“I am starving. So, what do you feel like?” She traces the outline of his mouth. “Eggs? Or pancakes? An Old Fashioned?”

He rolls over onto his back and stretches like a panther, grinning. Lucifer Morningstar could be the dictionary definition of “smug bastard,” but even he can’t remember ever feeling this perfectly gleeful, a little boy who’s stolen every single cookie from the cookie jar and not only hasn’t been caught, but hasn’t even gotten a belly ache. Frankly, all he _wants_ for breakfast is a certain detective, but if she needs to refuel first, he’s perfectly willing to just lie here and bask in the afterglow.

“Anything you want sounds just dandy,” he says.

Half giggling again, she rolls over too and straddles his hips. At some time in the night his dress shirt migrated from him to the floor to her, but the heat of her against him and the faint outline of her breasts against the white fabric reminds him that she’s wearing absolutely nothing underneath. He could lie like this for days, just staring up at the sun filtering through her hair.

“Oh, come on. You must have some preference,” she tries to pout, then turns it into a teasing smirk. “What do you truly desire?”

Lucifer blinks. 

He feels his whole body still, feels himself fill up with the absolute certainty that the woman sitting on his hips can give him, _will_ give him exactly what he wants. Her eyes are drowning blue, a high-pitched hum sounds in his ears, and there is no reason on earth why he shouldn’t tell her right now, with calm precision that, 

“I … I want to have sex with you another four times, six actually. … wha?”

Lucifer blinks again, breaks Chloe’s gaze with an effort. They both stare at each other in shock a moment before Chloe says, disbelievingly, “Did I just mojo you?”

“I-I don’t know.” 

Chloe stares blankly for a minute, before breaking into a laugh and slapping him on the chest.

“You’re messing with me!”

“Am I?” he replies, more than a little disturbed. He dimly hears Chloe call him silly and flop onto her belly next to him to call for breakfast delivery, but he can only stare after her. Even now Lucifer’s mouth crowds with desires--with things he never even knew he wanted:

_I want to tie you to the bed and make you come until you pass out._

_I want you to ride me outside in a thunderstorm while I drink the rain from your breasts._

_I want you to hold my hand at the precinct in front of everyone._

_I want you to touch my Devil face and tell me you love me, still love me, even at my worst._

It’s bad enough to try to be with the Detective when he can’t see what she truly wants, but for _her_ to know everything _he_ wants? Every soft, humiliating desire better suited to a 14-year-old girl than the sovereign ruler of Hell? 

Lucifer’s blood runs cold. 

* * *

Dr. Linda helps Lucifer dismiss the panicked thought that he’s been spreading his desire mojo like a divine STD through half Los Angeles, but she has trouble understanding why he minds Chloe mojoing him. 

“Desire is my thing!” he snaps petulantly. “My mojo is the reason I’m useful to her in the first place. If she can do it too, what’s my role in the partnership? Who even am I?” He can’t even bring himself to mention nearly blurting stupid, shoved-down desires like a leaky balloon.

“You don’t think you can share this with her and still be you? Lucifer, that’s what being in a relationship is: Sharing without losing yourself in the process,” Linda explains. “Besides, the fact that Chloe can mojo people too doesn’t mean you have to stop.”

Lucifer tries to get his whirling brain under control. The doctor’s right. Chloe was joking, didn’t even believe she’d really pulled any secret desire. There’s no reason for anything to change. He psyches himself up a little with that thought and thanks Linda before heading out to meet the Detective. He just needs to work a little mojo of his own.

* * *

His mojo is not working. At all. His increasingly frantic attempts to pull desires earn him only bewildered or suspicious looks.

And the Detective …

“Whatdoyoudesire?” she grits out in a whisper through her teeth after he insists she try to mojo him again in the middle of a crime scene.

And again, that helpless feeling of everything he’s ever wanted pouring up toward her, and the only thing saving him is that the thing he wants most at this moment is--

“ _I want my mojo back!_ ” he hisses at her before clamping his lips together.

Chloe’s eyes go wide and she steps back with a gasp that turns into a half-hiccup of a laugh. His irritation rises exponentially as he sees the corners of her lips start to turn up. “Oh my god! It’s real! It’s … _cool_ ,” she says, trying and failing to stop the grin spreading across her face.

“No, it’s not _cool_ ,” he snaps, affronted, and Chloe’s face falls.

Her voice turns exasperated and a little pleading. “Lucifer, we’ve just gotten together. You’re already finding things to freak out about.”

“I’m not _finding_ anything, Detective. All I’ve done so far is lose stuff.”

“Do you realize how long it took for us to get here?” She steps into him deliberately. “We finally have something good going on. I mean, can we please just enjoy it for a minute?”

Lucifer wants to rant, wants to lash out at this horrible ground-crumbling feeling all around him, but her eyes are huge and blue as the ocean, and he … pulls himself together. 

“Of course,” Lucifer says, offering her the weak shadow of a smile. “Of course.”

* * *

He tries. Really, he does. Tries to feel good about the Detective using her newfound mojo to interrogate suspects, only to find the only one she can truly mojo is himself. Tries to seduce her into giving back his mojo, only to turn her off altogether and end up in couples’ therapy within 24 hours of becoming a couple.

“It’s not like we covered celestial powers in med school,” Linda tells an frustrated Chloe, “but having sex with someone you truly care about requires surrendering control--giving up power. And on an emotional level, Lucifer’s reasoning does make some amount of sense.”

Lucifer preens. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“And the fact that he came to this emotionally mature insight on his own is impressive--shows a sign that he’s grown,” Linda adds. 

He nods along, enjoying that Chloe looks suitably chastened, before butting in, “Bully for me. Now can we jump to the part where you teach the Detective to return my mojo?”

Both women visibly hold back a sigh. 

“Yeah,” Linda deadpans, “scratch emotional maturity.”

But with Linda’s advice, Chloe does try to comfort him as best she can. She points out all the ways she admires him as a partner beyond his mojo--his skill with languages, his charm and insight--and tries to roll with his insistence on adopting a gun and badge of his own to share her “cop identity.” Through the day, as they chase a serial killer, Lucifer desperately wants to let it go, but he just can’t.

Lucifer watches the light of joy and comfort and playfulness that was in Chloe’s eyes this morning bleed away to anxiety, even a bit of resignation. 

* * *

Lucifer slumps against the kitchen wall of the apartment he was searching, his long legs stretched in front of him. He can still move his eyes enough to meet the would-be victim's terrified gaze; she’s already tied in position on a chair. He hears rather than sees the steely slither of the kitchen knife that his attacker pulls from a block on the counter when the Detective calls his name from the front door. 

He cannot move. Instead of his celestial metabolism burning through the injected paralytic in a matter of moments, the Detective’s nearness has left him as vulnerable as any man, utterly useless to either his partner or the woman next to him. 

Chloe spots him, skids to her knees beside him and frantically tries to rouse him. Lucifer realizes with numb horror that he is about to watch her be killed in front of him. He looks to the killer looming behind her, then meets her eyes, then looks back again, desperately trying to warn her. Just as the killer begins his downward stroke, she lunges backward, past him, and Lucifer watches the two of them grapple as her gun goes spinning. She dives into a roll, one hand sliding into his jacket as she comes up, smoothly pulling Lucifer’s gun and calling for the man to freeze. He keeps coming, and the Detective shoots him in the shoulder.

“We got him,” she pants over the killer’s stunned form, then looks back to him. “We did it, Lucifer.”

He breathes, and stares, and wants more than anything to be the Devil.

* * *

Chloe’s sitting at his desk, case files spread around her and the little intent moue on her face as she makes a note. His desk has never looked so good, and he tells her so.

“I thought maybe this could be our new normal,” she says with a shy smile. “If you like it.”

“What, you work and I drink? What’s not to like about that?” he tosses her a careless grin and turns back to the bar, his heart suddenly thudding in his throat. 

Lucifer glances at his penthouse, the wealth he’s acquired over untold ages that Chloe cares nothing for. His bedroom boasts a closet full of sex toys that he knows how to use for untold carnal delights--with anyone but the Detective, whose sexual preferences he’s forced to grope toward like a blindfolded schoolboy. Every power, skill, every treasure he ever hoarded, anything he could ever offer a lover, and they all evaporate in her presence, leaving him nothing but an ordinary man, whose faults are as true now as they were on the beach all those years ago. What in Dad’s name can he offer her?

He lifts his decanter and two crystal glasses, gesturing to the balcony as he adds, “... especially if you take a break once in a while. It’s a lovely evening outside.”

Chloe looks up at him, searching his face for something. Then she smiles, comes over to him, tugs the bottle and glasses gently from his hands and sets them down. She rises a little on tiptoe to brush her mouth over his. “You know, it really is a beautiful night,” she says. “And it’s early. Can we take a drive?”

His head tilts, surprised. “Of course, Detective, if you like.”

* * *

They end up at Griffith Observatory, the only temple to the heavens that Lucifer appreciates.

It’s closed, of course, which means less than nothing to the Devil and his police detective strolling hand in hand along its walkways, leaning from time to time against a railing to enjoy the stars above and Los Angeles below.

Chloe bumps gently against Lucifer's shoulder as he looks out beside a bust of James Dean, far less a rebel than Lucifer, and with far less consequence. 

“Because you’re vulnerable around me, I sometimes forget how strong you are,” she says softly, running fingers along his arm. “How powerful.”

Lucifer manages to preen and wince at the same time. “Less and less, as you’re well aware.” He wants to say something else, then stops himself.

“Feeling human, feeling weak, having to rely on other people must be so hard, so scary for you,” she says.

He coughs a bit of a self-deprecating laugh. “I suppose what I call powerlessness, other people call a Tuesday.”

Chloe weaves her fingers with his larger ones, sliding them gently back and forth. He can tell she’s about to say something he won’t like from the hesitant little circles she traces on the back of his hand, a delicate pleasure to soften his mood.

“Lucifer, I understand why you’re so upset you lost your mojo. Of course it’s a bad thing … but I can’t help thinking it could also be a good thing.”

He barks a disbelieving laugh. “Now you’re just spewing nonsense.”

Her hand clenches his, and in spite of wanting to push away from the conversation he grips her hand back.

There’s that searching look again. “I’ve been thinking,” she says, “and the fact that I can mojo you, maybe it means that I’ve put just a tiny dent in the giant wall you’ve erected around yourself. I think for perhaps the first time ever, you’re starting to open up to me. You’re starting to let me in.”

He freezes, but feels the shudder go all the way through to the bone. He remembers the light shining through the window of her apartment as he stood in the dark, watching another man drop to his knees before her and slide a ring onto her finger. He hears the tip and shatter of a wine glass as sheer dumb luck saved her from betraying him. He feels every pain and rejection over millennia … and how effortlessly it all seemed to fall away this morning. It felt so easy to be happy, like he was someone who might actually _get_ to be happy.

“You’re right,” he manages. “I think I may have dropped my guard.”

Neither of them says anything for a while. Lucifer stares out at Los Angeles, trying to decide if the trembling in his gut is hope or stark, blinding terror. Chloe keeps one hand laced with his while the other combs gently through the hair at the back of his neck. 

At length, she leans her head against his shoulder and says quietly, “You know, all your lovers, the ones you used your mojo on?”

“Mmhmm?” he answers. 

“You told me once that your mojo let them express their desires. Amenadiel said you could reflect it, that you could be whatever they wanted most.”

“Right, well, anyone but you, of course,” he mutters. 

Chloe tugs on his shoulder, turning him to her. 

“Lucifer, I wouldn’t have wanted you to just be some fantasy of mine, because I wouldn’t have gotten to know you. I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to fall in love with you …” 

It’s the first time she’s said those words again since he left her on the balcony. Even in the dark Chloe’s blushing so hard as she speaks that it spreads down her neck, and the combination of her words and her flush sparks that feeling again from this morning: the knots unwinding, his nerves lighting up with effortless joy. 

“But you, you’ve always _given_ ,” she stammers on, “and if this mojo thing could help me give _back,_ I’d … I’d really love to be able to give you your desires, too.”

A little raggedly, he whispers, "I think I could go for that."

Chloe tugs his head down a little and kisses him, fitting her body to his. Her lips open to a stroke of his tongue and he feels her little moan against his mouth. Lucifer wonders why he let them get out of bed at all today. 

_How does it feel so easy? Does it … not have to be hard? Could I just ask?_

Chloe says, “Want to come to my place?”

“Wha -- why not Lux?”

She grins, her face full of mischief. “Oh, just thinking I’m about 15 minutes closer and nobody’s home.”


	2. 20 Minutes Later ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe and Lucifer work it out. A few of Michael's plans go off the rails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smuttysmutsmut, feelings, and a bare dash of plot somewhere towards the end. But really, smutysmutsmut. You have been warned.

Not even 48 hours into dating and Chloe’s already realizing Lucifer’s just as slippery to pin down in sex as in everything else. 

Pun very much intended, tongue very firmly in cheek.

Forget mojoing him, every move she makes to find out what he wants in bed gets turned back on her. Like breakfast, anything she wants is _just dandy_ with Lucifer. And when Chloe’s own inhibitions trip her up a moment, suddenly Lucifer’s eight steps ahead, playing her body like his Steinway, melting all her thoughts down to trembling heat. She’s not complaining, exactly. Miracle she may be, but Chloe’s no more proof against sheer skill than anyone else who’s graced his bed. 

She’s hiked up on her kitchen counter at the moment, shoes and jeans crumpled on the floor below and Lucifer’s head firmly between her thighs. His tongue strokes lazy swirls through her labia and she rapidly exhausts her normally carefully hoarded willpower just in the effort to not grind against his face because oh holy _fuck_ does that feel good.

She’s long since given up trying to quiet her moans and whimpers and pants. He echoes her sounds with his own, rumbling and filthy, and the sensation of his deeper moan against her drives her even higher. He sucks her clit against his teeth as he curls two fingers into her and she keens, wordless and taut, drowning in the sensation.

She could fight it, could force him to back off enough to keep her senses. He might even expect it at this point. Instead she lets her head fall back, lets one hand press his shoulder and twines the other into his hair, trusting Lucifer entirely to hold her up. Her hips rock up to meet his mouth and if anything he becomes even more enthusiastic, his eyes wide and shining as they meet hers. And Chloe finds herself not on a roller coaster, but an ocean, the swells huge and lifting her as high as she cares to go.

“ _Lucifer_ ...”

As her first fluttering contractions press against his fingers, Lucifer doesn’t stop, but slows to deep, curling strokes within her, lifting her past the first crest and into the next. She tugs him up into her arms. She cradles his head and the back of his neck, leaning her forehead against his, chanting a litany of pleasure and love against his mouth as she rides his hand.

She knows could come again like this--she feels it building behind her eyes--but she stretches her pleasure like taffy instead, shifting her hips to disengage his hand and then wrapping one leg around him to steady herself as she slides to the floor. He groans as her wet heat grazes his cock on the way down.

“Maybe we should go upstairs while I can still walk?” she asks with a wry grin.

His eyes glint, and she remembers the first time they met, the silken, predatory way he’d said he liked to _play_. “Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem,” he says, then scoops her into his arms to carry her up the stairs.

It’s another move she’d normally balk at, but Chloe cuddles him instead, smiling to herself at Lucifer’s huff of surprise before he cradles her a little tighter against him. She’d promised to let herself be as vulnerable with him as he is with her, and she’s trying to live up to her end of the deal. She nuzzles his neck as he nudges open the door to her room with his hip.

He lays her down on her own homey cotton sheets like they’re silk, and she doesn’t try to contain her shiver as his fingers skim beneath her black blouse and slide it up over her head. Instead she sits up, licks her lips and shoots him a filthy little smirk. She reaches behind her and opens her bra one-handed, shrugging it off her shoulders in front of him and tossing it to the side of the bed. 

Lucifer’s eyebrows shoot up, and he grins. “Smooth trick, that.”

She laughs. “It ought to be, considering how many takes I had to do to get it right, once upon a time.”

“Well, practice makes perfect.” He leans down, braced on either side of her, to curl his tongue around an already hardening nipple. “I’m happy to be an audience of one, if you want to play out some of your greatest hits. …”

“Hmmm.” She taps his shoulder. “Hey, you still have on way too many clothes, by the way.”

“Oooh, I shall have to catch up, then.”

* * *

Lucifer runs his fingers lightly down his shirt, flicking buttons open one by one. He teases the shirt apart and down his arms with several centuries’ more striptease experience than Chloe has, enjoying the mix of humor and hunger in her face as she watches. He toes off shoes and socks, slides his belt out with a slithering rasp, watches her swallow hard when his trousers join his shirt on the ground. He wears nothing under them.

Maybe he can’t mojo her, but Lucifer can read the little tremor in her legs as he slides between them onto the bed. Her lips parting, her eyes darkening from sea to midnight blue, her hands reaching up to grasp him; they all call to the deliciously aching weight of his cock, pressed just against her, teasing them both. He still knows desire, and he’s pretty sure she’s ready to be shagged senseless. He’s absolutely sure that’s what _he_ wants to do right now.

Lucifer tilts her a cheeky grin as he edges against her. He nibbles her jawline to her ear. “Go on, then. Ask me.”

“Ask …? Oh!” 

She cups his jaw to bring his eyes to hers again, stroking her thumb across his bottom lip, and softly asks, “What do you truly desire, love?” 

And again, that little drop, like falling backward into the softness of wings catching him, a still and tingling certainty flowing up through him … but _oh bloody hell_ , instead of the lascivious quip he’d had on the tip of his tongue, what pours out is this little gem: 

“I want to stay. I want to be worth keeping.”

Chloe’s eyes snap wide, her mouth dropping open.

Lucifer feels the blood drain from his face as he frantically gropes for a way to recover. “No, I-I-I mean, I--”

 _Idiotidiotidiot_ \--

And now her hands are on his face, her mouth is on his, all his useless words falling away in her wake. 

She pushes hard, rolling them until she’s lying across his chest, and then braces a hand over his heart. He gasps for breath.

Her voice is fierce, sharp, arrowing straight to groin and heart alike. “Lucifer, I love you. You are always, always worth it. Worth everything. Do you understand me? I want you to stay.”

And then, a little softer, “I want to give you everything you desire too, you know? … um, I may not promise to be up for everything--I mean, I have no idea what you even do with a conch shell?--but I promise I can at least _try_.” 

He snorts half-guiltily at the reminder of bragging to the Detective about his little touch-pool caper with Eve, but even during all his escapades with the First Woman, he'd played to someone else's fantasy: the wanton hedonist Devil that Eve had left the Silver City to find. Has anyone ever wanted to know what he alone desired? He’s not even sure he wants to know, after today’s mortifying mojo fiasco. 

And yet, he finds himself unable to look away from this light in her eyes. He can feel his own power in her, teasing him. This warm, lifting pressure hasn’t fully eased, even after his last outburst. _Tell her, and the woman looking at you will give you everything you desire. Everything you never knew you desired. Everything you never dared let yourself desire._

All those fantasies trapped behind his teeth this morning. All the thoughts in his head right now. 

He lets out a breath, offers something small and harmless like opening a release valve to keep the rest of it in. “I want your hands on me. Your mouth on me, everywhere.”

It’s barely a murmur, but her face lights up. “Oh yes, yep, I can do that.”

Chloe draws his hands up in hers and drops gentle, open-mouthed kisses over his palms, his knuckles. She sucks his index and middle fingers into her mouth and rakes her teeth down over the sensitive pads of his fingertips and _holy hell_ , his eyes just about roll back in his head at that. Her lips and teeth gently graze his inner wrist and a shiver of goosebumps runs all the way up his arm.

Oh. Oh my. _Ohh_.

Maybe this wasn’t so small and harmless. Lucifer’s pulse speeds under her teeth.

She laces their fingers together and presses his hands down on either side of his head as she leans over to brush his lips with hers. He parts his own, chasing her mouth a little when she pulls back, but Chloe smiles, leans up to feather kisses over his brow, his cheeks, the eyelids that flutter closed under her lips. She trails down from temple to jaw and beyond, mirroring his earlier move, catching his earlobe and sucking just enough to make his breath stutter. 

“ _Everywhere_ , you say?” Chloe whispers teasingly against the shell of his ear, releasing his right hand to trail her fingertips down his side to the hollow of his hip. She raises her head and grins at the faint pink spreading over his freckled chest. “Hmm, so it seems I _do_ have moves to make the Devil blush …”

“Oh, _indeed_ , Detective,” he purrs.

She cups the side of his throat, brushing a thumb over flushed skin. “I think I like that.”

He huffs a laugh, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as she licks his collarbone. “I know I do.”

* * *

It takes Chloe a little while to feel the difference in him, in part because at first she doesn’t feel like she’s doing anything particularly skilled or exotic. She’s at least a few orgasms to the good already, which takes the edge off her own urgency, and she’s delighted to take her time kissing and nibbling her way across the freckled constellations of his body, confirming after this insane day that every inch of him is whole and well and wonderful. 

And he’s letting her, Chloe realizes. He hasn’t moved to flip them or sneak clever fingers down to distract her. His pupils are blown nearly black, but his mouth curves soft and somehow shy, as though she’s the more experienced one, and he’s not quite sure what she’ll do to him. It makes Chloe smile, and Lucifer’s answering smile could light his stars. His muscles twitch and flex; he pants and moans and catches his breath as she explores his body, but he keeps his eyes on her. 

She bites gently against the skin of his inner thigh, then rubs her cheek against him like a cat when he cries out. She rolls her eyes up to meet his and smirks, channeling her inner Lucinda, swiping a slow, swirling lick up his cock before pausing with her smiling mouth barely pressed against the head. 

“Mmm?” she hums questioningly, lightly stroking across his balls and below to his perineum as she does. His hips jerk half off the bed.

“Gghhuh … minx,” he growls, but she can hear the laughter under it. “Yes, plea--oh. ... Ohhh mm _hmm_ , yes.”

Lucifer’s eyes fall shut as she cups her tongue against the underside of his cock and slowly sucks him down. She pulls back up just as slowly, her cheeks hollowing a little, as she listens to his rough groan. His right hand threads gently into her hair and his hips rock up as she finds a rhythm. Down and back, down and back, winding her tongue over him, flicking across his sensitive frenulum as her fingers scratch and stroke gently below. 

“Ahh, ohh … oh _bloody hell_ , darling, do _that--_ ” he gasps, sharp enough that Chloe has to stop herself from laughing--and probably choking, all things considered. 

Her head feels bright and as fizzy as if she’d swallowed a double-glassful of champagne. She speeds up and feels the coil of his body tighten, tighten, and her own body hums with pleasure just feeling, just listening to him. The Lord of Hell babbles and gasps and downright _writhes_ under Chloe Jane Decker, thank you very much. His face lights with lust and something almost like surprise.

 _I_ _did that. He didn't know I could make him feel that good, too._

Chloe wonders if a contact-high-orgasm could possibly be a thing, because she thinks she’s getting close. 

And then he’s tugging at her shoulders, gentle but urgent. “ _Chloe._ Here, up here, please darling,” and she lets him draw her up to kiss her. 

She can’t help but press herself against him, her breath hitching when he grinds back. And then she whimpers into his mouth as Lucifer rolls them back over, sliding a hand down her leg to hook her knee over his arm. Chloe angles her hips as he presses into her and ducks her head under his chin, humming against his chest. 

Lucifer rocks deep, his mouth pressed to the skin just below her ear, and he says low and secret, “I want you just like this. I want to watch you come apart around me. I want to fall asleep in your arms and wake up and do it all over again.”

The combination of his voice and his steady, building strokes lights up every nerve, and Chloe manages only faint syllables of assent.

Lucifer’s arms tighten, but he doesn’t stop speaking: Sensual fantasies of ropes and rain and other things to make her body tighten around his. Sweeter desires--game nights, holding hands, the comfort of her warmth next to him at his piano--that make her heart clench. He tucks his face against the side of her neck and whispers like a confession. She pulls back just enough to see his face, as vulnerable, as awed as that first night on his balcony, before she _knew_ \--but this time thin lines of hellfire chase around the irises of his wide-blown eyes. 

Chloe cups his cheeks, feels pleasure build at the base of her spine as she traces her fingertips above the fire that no longer scares her. 

“Oh yes, love,” she whispers, rocking up in time with her words to urge him faster. “I can _definitely_ do that. All of it. You’re mine and you’re staying and we have all the time in the world.” 

Lucifer’s breath hitches, his rhythm turning frantic, and she bears down as tightly as she can as her orgasm sparks and ripples out, pulling him over with her. 

* * *

Dan Espinosa waits, gun in hand, but Lucifer never makes it back to Lux that night. 

Instead, Dan finds Lucifer and Chloe the next morning standing in the conference room in the precinct, shoulders touching and files from the Whisper Killer case spread before them. 

Lucifer’s right hand rests on the table next to Chloe’s left, their little fingers coyly entwined. Dan gapes, his bloodshot eyes going from Lucifer to Chloe in disbelief. 

“Chlo--you--you--Lucifer …”

She laughs.

“I know, I know. Yes, we’re dating, Dan,” Chloe says, and looks at Lucifer, and smiles. Dan knows that smile. It's the one that says she feels safe, and sure, and happy, and in love. She used to turn that smile on him, once upon a time. 

And then Lucifer Morningstar, King of Hell, Evil Incarnate, freaking _blushes_ and looks at Dan's ex-wife like she hung the stars. And Dan knows that look, too. Remembers giving it, remembers seeing it on the consultant who's been following his ex-wife like a puppy for the last few years.

In spite of himself he can’t … fear … a man looking so hopelessly twitterpated, no matter what Dan saw a few nights ago.

Dan shakes his head like a man waking up from a nightmare. He mutters something incomprehensible, ignoring the now-concerned look his friends shoot each other as he heads back to his desk. He pulls out his phone and dials a number. 

“Hey Amenadiel, can you meet me? I really need to talk to you, man.”

~End~

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Song of Songs, aka, one of the few sections of the Bible Lucifer can really get into.


End file.
